Novel Treatments / The Reluctant Adventurer: Query & Overture (Analysis)
Dear Jud,
Act I of The Reluctant Adventurer tells the story of a young man whose airplane is shot down by sky pirates from a lost continent. However, an ancient race of beings that call themselves the Unseen Power soon eclipse any threat that the sky pirates pose. Having not aged with the rest of nature their race is still as finely tuned as it was when time began yet their intention is to turn the earth into a new Garden of Eden… into a state of youth… a state of perfection… killing off any less perfect than they.
The plane crash launches a whirlwind of events, and this reluctant adventurer is thrown head-on into the path of many unforgettable characters. Among them is Adrienne Gale, an alluring art thief who sets out to steal a painting that has supernatural powers. Theft, espionage, and especially revenge: Adrienne does it all with a sensual flair. Though, beneath her cruel, tantalizing persona is a mother viciously trying to pay the ransom for her missing child. When she is sent to infiltrate the sky pirate Captain Awthello and steal the supernatural painting, it is done out of desperation. However, her deeds would seem like revenge, for Awthello romanced her once upon a time and left after fathering the child for whom she now seeks.
Awthello is a scoundrel who would sooner follow his fists than his heart. Though, he is not without his own set of problems. The massive airship that he commands becomes infested with a beast of the apocalypse, eluding both capture and death. Worse yet is a secret that the Unseen Power hope to uncover and use in their quest to inherit the earth. This secret is possessed only by Professor Ovilstar, an old scientist thought to be forever lost in deep space. Though, using a black hole that is opened with musical tones the professor has returned.
The game is now afoot! Can Awthello keep the professor safely hidden under lock and key, or should the old man be killed quickly to prevent the enemy from extracting the information they need? Professor Ovilstar, however, is a master of super science and more than a match for any lock and key. Perhaps, he is even a match for the Unseen Power as well.
A woman scorned. A conniving scoundrel. And a wise old sage. All of them are enemies, yet they all have the same objective: to derail the genocide of a new Eden.
Eventually, the Unseen Power finds Awthello’s airship. They send their emissaries, the VolActyc Knights, to commence a hostile takeover and kidnap Professor Ovilstar. Considering us unworthy to look upon those of a higher race, their faces are hidden behind skull masks and they wear black leather made from human flesh. Like samurais, they slice through body and bone, and massacre all who stand in their way.
It is up to Professor Ovilstar to use his deep knowledge of the natural world as a weapon. Not only must he fight off sky pirates and Vol Actyc Knights but he must also face the apocalyptic creature that infests Awthello’s airship. With bolts of electricity and electromagnetic pulses, the professor uses science to ward off his enemies.
In this manner he also saves the life of the young “reluctant adventurer” that the story began with. Not far away are the shores of a lost continent hidden from the known world. It is home not only to Professor Ovilstar but also to the Isis Alliance… and an army of Nephilim waiting to begin their Eden of Genocide. Act I ends with the destruction of the professor’s immediate foes. Yet Act II and Act III will lead him and his friends to an entire empire of these beings where the Nephilim Messiah awaits.
For more than ten years I have been writing and rewriting this tale, allowing it grow and evolve with the changes of my own life. Even though Act I of The Reluctant Adventurer has already been self-published through Xlibris there is no contract to keep me with them.
As a graphic designer and painter, I have created a number of illustrations for the book, along with a website to promote it. In March of 2007 a book signing was held for The Reluctant Adventurer at a local Barnes & Noble. I was also featured on local radio, television, and in newspapers. However, I have since revised the novel and seek a major publisher.
I am thankful for this opportunity to contact you and look forward to your feedback.
Sincerely,
Jerry Thorwayn
A Sort of Overture:
The nebulous hue of dawn emerged between the rugged horizon and the starlit sky. The faint glow outlined rows of snowcapped mountains that stood like fortress walls of solid earth. They nearly grazed the seat of space and overlooked a canyon far below. Within it was a chasm, miles wide, descending deep into mist and darkness.
At the brink of this echoing crevasse was a pyramid of ancient marble. It was seated in a forest of flowering trees, while patches of moss and strands of ivy crept up the walls of stone. Though dwarfed by the towering mountains, its pinnacle still reached far into the sky, piercing halos of cloud and mist that lingered in the morning air.
Perched there, on the very tip of the apex, was an immense bird. The looming figure of this creature stood almost two stories in height. With streaming tail feathers and a serrated beak, it looked like a remnant of the prehistoric. As always, the enormous silvery plumage on its head glistened in the sunrise. Thus it was called a sterling eagle. But it was an eagle in name only and related more closely to an ancient world that lives on in the form of fossils and legends.
This creature and its ancestors had been left undisturbed for eons uncounted. But the winds of change were on the move. A war was brewing far away; and it was drawing nearer. This creature, though, had not the ability to comprehend such things… or that the fate of many would soon be decided in the valley that it was watching.
So on the pyramid it remained, aware only that the sun was rising.
Then, there was a flicker of motion in the shadows of the world, and its head tilted ever so slightly, perceiving movement across the canyon.
The silver crown and pinions of the bird sparkled as its wings opened up, spanning more than thirty feet. With a gale-like rush of wind, the creature beat its wings in place, breaking the stillness of the early day. But still it did not leave its perch. For in this pyramid was its home. Ten fathoms below was a nest so great that a full-grown man could have disappeared inside. Yet it was well hidden from harm and sight, built in the deep hollows of a cavern that time and age had worn into the face of the stone. Though compared to the immensity of the pyramid itself, it was a mere crack.
Indeed there was no greater place for shelter. The pyramid had outlived whole civilizations and possessed the strength to outlive many more. It was built by unknown hands and inscribed from top to bottom with descriptions of a much younger earth that would be unrecognizable to us today. Though, not a single written word can be found on the face of that stone. Across the surface of the pyramid was a geometric language so intuitive that its meaning could be felt by any who beheld it. This seamless fusion of artistic math is so removed from our way of thinking now that it is too wondrous to be explained or understood by those who have not seen it for themselves.
Soon, a female sterling eagle emerged from the sanctum of the nest, and she joined her mate at the top of the pillar. Then, they spread their wings and leaped forth, gliding on the hand of the wind. Their eyes gazed keenly at the land below as the shadows of the night ebbed away.
In blankets of evergreen, a forest of giant firs stretched from the base of the mountains, reaching all the way to the chasm’s edge.
The sterlings began to descend, passing through clouds of mist. They searched for any glimpse of wolves flitting through the trees, since these wild dogs were their prey.
Although, not a trace of wolf was found that morning. All had fled to their dens, hidden in the subterranean depths of the mountains.
But there would be other prey in other places. The sea was not far, and they were sure to find great white sharks to snatch out of the waves and take back to their nest.
They plunged without hesitation into the canyon below, where there flowed a great river, as clear as glass. In moments, they spread open their wings and glided inches above the glistening flow.
Suddenly, a drop-off passed beneath them, and the river ended, at once. Its waters poured over the edge in a thundering, billowing mist that disappeared far below, into abyssal darkness. The floor of the canyon could no longer be seen and a vast, windy void had now taken its place. The sterling eagles soared over the chasm as the wind and mist hovered beneath them. The length of the chasm went on and on, and its depth was unknown.
With this exotic void encircled by snowcapped mountains, the entire canyon looked like a vast coliseum of impossible depth. In the regions where grass and flowers grew, the snow from high above would melt in the warm air and run down the great cliffs. They mixed with steaming geysers to form the rivers and waterfalls that plunged into the abyss. And there, on a small plateau, beside one of the glistening cascades, stood a young man and woman.
They were travelers in the midst of a journey. That is what had brought them to this remote place high above the safe havens of the world. In the hopes of finding respite, they lingered there, standing between the morning sky that rose endlessly above them, and the great chasm, now howling with cool abyssal winds. Overcome by an emotion now personified by this chasm, the two travelers reminisced. They found themselves talking about those left behind- friends who were on journeys of their own in lands far away. Each of them had different roles to play in the same vast adventure.
But this adventure had turned dark as of late. Unexplainable horrors had been witnessed along the way. Such things were not far from their thoughts. Yet they hoped to find some rest for as long as this solitude would last.
The woman stepped to the brink of the plateau and looked down into the majestic darkness. The bottom of the chasm seemed as far away as the some distant, future year that she would never live to see. But its imposing height did not concern her; this fantastic place was far too beautiful to fear.
With curls of pale gold waving in the morning wind, she turned and looked at her companion.
He was instantly absorbed by her gentle eyes- her powerful, gentle eyes. They became an entire universe before him.
Out of that beautiful paradox of darkness and light, emerged a truth that the man could not define with words. He could feel his desire for her merge with the heavens and the descending mists.
The wind and sunlight seemed to be transformed as they passed through the woman's presence. Without her, daylight would never feel complete again.
He yearned to be a part of the mystery. But she alone could let him enter. So his spirit was laid open and defenseless; and his soul was at the mercy of the woman who now gazed into his eyes.
Sadly though, they felt that their story was drawing to an end. What kind of end, however, was still unclear. The wheels were set in motion; this much was certain. Both of them felt it yet neither dared to speak of it.
They knew that war was on its way… a war that might very well cleanse from the earth everything that they held dear. Perhaps, even now, they were the last living members of the human race as they remembered it. After all, they had seen the strangest of things and had escaped from enemies who they never thought could possibly exist. Nothing would surprise them now. But the human soul can only take so much, and both were ready to let go.
Therefore, it was time to abandon the sorrow of the past and the fear of dangers yet to come… even if only for a moment.
They began to talk about the wonders of the universe and dwell on things that they could not understand. Hoping to retreat into a deeper sense of unity, they began to speak of music and the primordial emotions summoned by harmonies that resonate with the mysteries of the world. They talked as if this day was like any other. And they were determined to find some sort of pleasure in it before the end. The course of their conversation led the man to mention a promenade that he had never learned. So she offered to teach it to him.
Strangely enough, they began to dance in each others arms, there, on the plateau as the crystal clear water flowed around their moving feet and fell into darkness. The promenade was swift and captured the essence of that morning.
As they danced to this song that only they could feel, one of the sterling eagles passed beneath the ledge. The eagle caught a sudden updraft and vaulted skyward. It soared passed them in a gust that sent their hair and garments waving like banners in the wind.
And still they danced.
At this point, the man and the woman were too captivated to say much at all. Perhaps it was better that way, for some things cannot be put into words. So the two of them grew more and more intimate… by sharing the wonders around them.
They were seized by a magnificent madness, losing themselves in the blinding ecstasy and tearful beauty that flows from such abandon. In an instant, fear became joy; and danger was turned to beauty.
And still they danced.
They could not pull themselves away. And they savored every last moment of this communion.
Soon the image of the two lovers waned as the sterling eagles began to rise. In a twinkling, the eagles were soaring level with the canyon's crest; and soon thereafter, the very mountaintops were at their feet. They beat their wings with fury as they scaled the beams of light. Throughout the morning, they frolicked in the heavens.
Below them was a country filled with fantastic legends that are yet to be disproved. If the mountains and trees of that land could speak, certainly they would give account to escapades of terror and heroism that no human has witnessed and lived to record. It is a distant land that may seem worlds away. Yet many of us have come across remnants of it without knowing… in museums, perhaps, or in libraries. Though, they are mistaken for artifacts from the known world; or else they are mentioned in the myths and legends of dusty books that are rarely read. Thought to be insignificant pieces of our own history, they are forgotten… when, in truth, they are keys to something new and yet unseen.
It was just recently, in fact, that I, the writer of this book, had fully learned the details on the subject. This account of the man and woman, dancing at the edge of an abyss, was something that I had first heard, not long ago, as I sat at a table in a café.
That day is one that I will never forget. For history had been made, the night before: an unforeseen event had taken place on the moon, leaving many of us in shock. It was a phenomenon that would come to be called “The Great Lunar Flare”.
Though it may not yet be obvious, this lunar flare had a great deal to do with the man and the woman and the sterling eagles. They all shared a common bond that will reveal itself in time.
Now, as far as this Lunar Flare is concerned… it may have been something that you’ve heard of. Although, if you did not happen to be staring right at the moon when it took place or read the latest astronomy news shortly afterward, the Lunar Flare might have slipped by you unnoticed. It was an event, little known to most people; but to stargazers, it had reached mythical status in mere hours. I happened to be at a party that night with my fiancée. We were all just listening to music and winding down from the workweek when a few of us slipped outside. Our friend who was hosting the party had a telescope on the deck.
I certainly was not suspecting anything unusual. Nobody was. We were just taking turns, looking through the telescope, bringing random stars and planets into focus.
Then it happened.
What I saw was a flicker of light in a dark spot of the moon: a mere spark, it seemed, that was gone in a twinkling. My friends saw it, too… but with the naked eye. Even though it was just as silent and just as fleeting as a shooting star, we knew that only an eruption of astounding size could be visible to us on Earth.
Every scientist, astronomer, and amateur (like myself) was talking about it all over the western hemisphere, long before sunrise. Rumor had it that the government took immediate interest in the strange flash, as well.
What could have caused it? An asteroid, perhaps? A nuclear warhead? Maybe the remnants of some alien technology.
There’s not even enough atmosphere on the moon to fuel such an explosion. Is there?
No one had any answers, but everyone had a theory.
Needless to say, I was in the café the next day solely because it was part of a bookstore. That was where I took up my search for information on lunar flares. It was a great place to entertain the mind with far-flung words from scholars who could add new dimensions to anyone’s thinking. And as a struggling free lance writer, at the time, I was hoping to be one of the first to find an answer and put it into writing.
Though, it was not long before these delusions of grandeur ebbed away and I was fully seduced by the relaxing atmosphere. I found myself at a table with an armload of books; and though I rarely drink coffee, there was also a latte in my hand.
I tried to focus on the words before me, but my attention kept drifting away to a conversation at a table nearby.
Seated there, was a fellow, not much younger than myself; and he was recounting a story to several of his friends. It was none other than the tale of the man and the woman on the cliff. I could not help but hear him as he recounted their dance by the waterfall and described the sterling eagles that passed them by.
But it did not stop there.
I could have sworn he said that he actually knew the secret of the lunar flare that the entire world had seen the night before.
My hearing sharpened itself, at once. I leaned in toward their table, though ever so slightly, and listened to every word that followed.
He went on to claim that the woman who danced on the cliff was once a friend of his and was, in fact, the very person who caused the lunar flare. I did not believe it of course, and was even a bit irritated, at this point, to think that I had wasted my time falling for his story.
Then, he began to describe strange affairs in unknown lands… and explain how they had set the stage for this flash on the moon. He was a good storyteller, if nothing else. And I listened further, with just a little less irritation.
But then, in the course of his story, he spoke a name that I had encountered once before and only once in my entire life. It was many years ago… in a museum, written on an artifact with unknown origins. That name was the Millennial Leap… and at once, it resuscitated memories that had been nearly lost.
He also talked about places of mystery with the authority that only an eyewitness could have. For that is indeed what he was claiming to be- a traveler who had seen these places with his very eyes. And oddly enough, the people who were with him, listened without question.
Why were they not doubtful?
A childlike curiosity had overcome me. And since I thought that perhaps there might be some shred of truth to his tale, I could not resist from introducing myself and telling him my story about the museum artifact that bore the very name he mentioned, the Millennial Leap.
He and his friends were very polite, and they received my words with great interest.
He, in turn, told me his complete tale and the pivotal role that the man and woman played in it. Though, he did not do so, all in one sitting, for his story was far too long... and its details were far, far too bizarre to casually discuss in public. And even now, I find myself wondering if all of it is true. Though, he has produced evidence that, at least to me, seems irrefutable.
John Robinson is the name of that young man. He was the one who stepped into the “wonderland” that the pages of this book are about to describe; and it is with him that this story really begins. Although you would have never expected John to be a witness of the extraordinary had you the misfortune of meeting him prior to these happenings.
He lived in a small American town called Almondton. On the surface, it was a typical, idyllic northeastern community, filled with coziness and charm. But it wouldn’t take long for any visitor to see that this was a suffocated place where people were deceived into thinking that everyday life was ordinary. Most of the people there were completely focused on either making ends meet or making a fortune. They were too busy watching the two dimensional routines they had built with blood, sweat, and wealth to ever realize that a third dimension of depth was just waiting to be discovered.
John Robinson was among the worst of them: a champion of self-protective cynicism. He considered himself to be a dissident who snubbed the greed of society- a rebel who resisted the temptation of power. But everyone else just saw him as a spoiled adult child who still lived above his parents’ garage (free of charge, no less), criticizing everything he saw because he could not break away.
That assessment was probably more accurate than any delusions of grandeur that John himself entertained. Though, all of this was soon to change. Certainly, it was a far cry from pyramids, sterling eagles, and lovers fleeing from an impending war. Though, it was only a matter of time before John Robinson would cross paths with them and be on the run himself.
Unaware of what lied ahead, John spent this day like any other- with his narrow, lanky form hunched over a desk in his room. His workspace was littered with books, ranging from philosophy to computer science. Clearly, he was well versed in the abstract and the theoretical.
It was about four in the afternoon when he was finally disturbed from his mental solitude. John spun around in the swivel chair, only to be greeted by a blinding glare.
It was his mother.
Near the collar of her shirt was a brass pin embedded with a rare Austrian Crystal that caught the inbound sunlight. The pin itself was shaped in the image of a nameless saint from some unknown gospel. She had no idea if this was a saint of her own faith or of a long lost religion with a god she never heard of. Still, she would not be seen without the pin. It supposedly brought luck and protection, and that was enough to satisfy her well-meaning but naive sense of faith.
Janet Robinson just stood there staring at her son and shaking her head. It was John who finally broke the silence: “Hmmm… that’s odd. I never heard you knock.”
Janet made no reply; in fact it looked like she was fighting back tears. All she did was walk to his desk and throw down a newspaper. There was a circled article on the top page.
Never do we see more clearly the proud heritage of our town, Almondton, than during the yearly memorial service. Richard Almond, the late priest that founded our community, is remembered fondly by people of different faiths. But even this event had its critics. A protester dressed like a priest was seen picketing in front of the church. As the unsuspecting senior citizens walked by to pay their respects to the late Richard Almond, the protester held out a sign and said, “If you miss him that much, just wait five minutes!”
“Why, Jonathan? Why?” was all that his mother said.
“What makes you so sure it was me?”
To that she responded by throwing down a priest costume from the local costume shop.
“I found that in a box downstairs,” she said, “I know it was you! And so does everyone else! How could you be so insensitive? Those were elderly people! Some of them might not be around much longer! Actually, it goes passed being insensitive. I don’t even know what to call it!”
“How about Fatalism with a smile?”
His mother was not amused, but John persisted: “Rich Almond wasn’t even a real priest! He was a convicted felon! And as far as those dear ol’ senior citizens of yours- they’d sooner stab you in the back than give up a penny of their fixed income… even if it was for charity!”
“All I know is that they were going to church!” his mother said, “And then, to add insult to injury you made fun of them on that web site of yours.”
“Uh… that would be a blog page. And I wasn’t making fun. I was just making an observation.”**
“That’s enough, John! I’m done trying to reason with you. You’re father’s on his way home, and he needs to talk to you. So come on down and wait for him.”
“Wait for him?” John cried.
“That's what I said.”
“Why? Is his majesty in another royal hurry?”
“Jonathan! Please!”
“Or are you afraid that he won't be able to get drunk on time, tonight? Listen! What I'm doing here is a lot more important than anything he wants!”
With a trembling voice, Janet said, “You know your father. And he's a lot bigger than you are. If you're not there waiting for him when he gets home, he'll come up here and drag you downstairs... by the throat!”
John knew that his mother's words were the sad truth- although slightly exaggerated. For she had a strange tendency to go out of her way to please her husband in spite of the fact that he did nothing to please her. John always told her that she was “mousy” and perhaps he was right; although, he was not much better: he tended to be lazy and had gotten so used to only interacting with his tiny circle of acquaintances that he had become a bit “mousy” himself. John's father was a shield for the other two members in the family- the “shark” who would get them their meal. As a result, they found themselves yielding to this shark.
Although, Janet meant it more as diplomacy than submission. For she just wanted to fix any controversy that was in her home, and feared somehow that it would make her less of a wife, less of a mother, and less of a woman if she could not heal the problems that came her way.
But her husband never saw it like she did and certainly never appreciated her efforts. At this point, it wouldn’t take much for her to give up and start a new life elsewhere. A still, small voice, however, kept telling her to have faith. So she waited with hope… and little more.
Needless to say, the change she anticipated never came. The Robinson family continued as it always had, with a mother that believed in too much; a son that believed in too little; and a father that believed only in whatever fed his cravings.
It seemed that this night would be just another typical portrait of the Robinson household. John followed his mother down the steps of the four car garage and walked across the driveway to their three-story Mediterranean style house that looked like a magazine cover. There, he sunk into the couch and stared at the empty fireplace across the room... for a very long time.
Despite this estate, filled with its many amenities, John Robinson usually felt like lava that erupts when it is squeezed out of its element. He did, however, possess the power to stop this act of nature. He just did not want to suffer the discomfort of making a change from within.
Why so much gridlock beneath the surface?
Because the human soul needs more than comfort.
He had no belief in destiny, providence or any form of fate, and trusted in nothing but the barriers of protection that grew up around him over time.
However, to call him an atheist would be far from accurate and certainly not fair to those who actually are. Sometimes John would disagree with people just for the sake of it, which was certainly the case when he picked fights with the local church people.
John reasoned things out to the point where (ironically) it was beyond reason; he had no means by which to test his beliefs. Without a healthy bit of conflict, the error he had mixed with fact and truth was left unattended.
What is truth without conflict?
Reason without reality?
Can an unborn child make judgements about the world beyond the womb?
Regardless of all John’s reading materials and intellect, he could not make proper judgements about the life beyond his home, his town, and the only world he knew.
Eventually, the front door swung opened and Mr. William Robinson made a grand entrance. Bill Robinson was a tall, middle-aged man whose hair was dark with streaks of gray. During the workday, he was a vicious businessman and an aspiring politician. Then, he would return to his beautiful home at night- sometimes very late at night.
And this night was no different than any other. The moment after stepping through the doorway, he dropped his briefcase; threw off his suit jacket; yanked off his tie; and marched to his living room chair where he quickly poured himself some liquor. Then, he promptly drank it like medicine.
That was when he finally noticed his son.
“Well, I see your mother relayed my message to you. Now let's talk.”
“Yeah, after you had your drink first,” John’s mother said as she stepped into the room.
“Nice to see you too, Janet,” Bill replied without even making eye contact.
“Go ahead. Brush me off. It’s the one thing you’re good at.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Bill smirked, but it was only with a poker face; the agitation was welling up.
Janet said nothing. She just slung a box of tissues that she might have used for tears, had a rage not taken over first. The box sailed across the room at her husband and missed his head by inches.
“Janet! For cryin' out loud!” he said, “My son and I are trying to talk; so be polite and keep it down. I work hard in the day to support your Royal Highness! The least you could do is make my life a little easier!”
She just stared at him for a moment and then walked away.
“You should be thanking me, Janet,” Bill added coldly, “After all, I was the only man with enough sympathy to marry you.”
The sarcasm had gone too far. In fact, John thought that he saw her sobbing in the kitchen.
“Aaa, don't worry about her,” said Mr. Robinson, “Those are tears of joy! Now forget about it, and let's get down to business,” he paused, almost thoughtfully, for a moment and then said, “Remember that coot, Uncle Angus?”
“Well, yeah. He used to visit us a lot when I was little. Right?”
“Yeah… before he retired and moved to Nassau, in the Bahamas. Well, you know how his health dropped, not too long ago… right?”
“I think I remember somebody saying something about it.”
“Well, I got word that his condition's gotten pretty bad. They don't think he'll be around too much longer. And since we're the closest thing to family, he's got, one of us should be with him for a while.”
“Well, if you have the time to go…”
“Man! You're bright!” his father said, “I don't have the time to go; but I know someone who does.”
“I hope you don’t mean me?”
“Bingo.”
“D’you actually expect me to wait on him hand and foot?”
“Whatever it takes, Son.”
“Takes for what?”
“If it makes you feel any better, he does have a good bit of money; it might not hurt for you to get on his good side before the fat lady sings.”
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Money! If you want it so bad then go there yourself. I’m not a French maid for hire!”
“It’ll practically be a vacation for you! Besides, you’re not so popular around here, Johnny Boy… especially after that little stunt of yours at the Memorial Service. There’s a few people who really want your head. I’d suggest taking a leave of absence before someone really does pop you off.”
“Nobody around here is that ambitious. Your political career is the only thing on the line. But I’ll play along for now.”
“Yeah, you better!”
“So how am I supposed to get there?”
“On an airplane, Dummy! How else?”
“But I’ve never flown before. I’m not taking my first flight over the ocean!”
His dad just rolled his eyes.
“Besides,” John added, “isn’t Nassau in the Bermuda Triangle?”
Mr. Robinson froze with a look of shock: “The Bermuda Triangle? You’re kidding me, right?”
“Well, I’m not risking my life for your stupid greed!”
“You call it risking your- oh my gosh! Maybe you should talk to the thousands of people every year who ‘risk their lives’ in Nassau’s luxury resorts and Caribbean yacht clubs. Ooh! I bet they have some real bone-tinglers to tell.”
Then, Mr. Robinson paused, shaking his head: “Ya say Nassau and most people think of Paradise Island, but I’ve got a son who thinks of ghost stories!”
“That’s it! I'm not going,” John said firmly.
“Why not?” growled his father.
“I don't have to explain any-”
“Tell me. Now!”
“What about my career?”
“Career?” his father laughed, “What are you now- a comedian?”
“I'm in the middle of studying to be a computer programmer! I'm also working on a philosophical discourse, and during the last few days I've had a white-hot phase of inspiration. If I break my thinking streak now by going on this trip, I might never recover from it.”
“Good! You'd be a lot better off if that hoopla you write burned in hell. Nobody wants to read your idiotology. And nobody wants your virtual reality hacker crap programs. You better thank God that I still support you!”
“What God?”
“Oh, will you stop! That tongue of yours is just digging your grave deeper!” his father shouted, “And that brings me to another point. Your out-in-orbit ideas are making a bit of a stir around here. This is a very religious town, you know. And if I'm gonna get anywhere in local politics, I need my family to seem at least quasi-American. And that's not gonna happen when I've got a wife who mistreats me and a son who thinks he's Karl Marx! That's the problem with you and your big ideas- they’re not American. Whatever happened to God, country, and family?”
“Yeah, I wonder,” came Janet's voice from the other room.
“What is it with you, tonight, Woman? I wasn't even talking to you, and you still had to throw in your little jab!”
Without hardly a breath in between, he turned to John and continued, “You're just like your mother; you’re always flaunting your opinions around, no matter who it hurts! “Now I do have a lot of respect for God, and God has a lot of respect for me. But how am I supposed to run for public office, when I've got a son who challenges everybody's belief in religion?”
“You mean, their belief in superstition!” John retorted, “The best that the Almighty can do is give them statues of his mother to pray to. Please!!! This is the cosmos! Idols and rosaries are a bit too archaic to appease the appetite of the universe!”
Enraged, his father lunged forward and clutched his son's shirt collar; and as Mr. Robinson thrust his face, nose to nose with John's, the boy lost all nerve.
“You're a real head-case!” growled Mr. Robinson, “My only son! My only son: a guru! That's what you are! You've been cooped up in that room of yours way too long; you need to get out a little more! Most people would jump at the chance to go to the Bahamas, and I've got a son who's afraid to leave his bedroom! Well, guess what! I've got news for you, Johnny Boy! You're goin' to Nassau... and you're not comin' back… 'til you admit you're insane!”
CHAPTER I:
A Beast in the Darkness
The nameless saint glistened like the vision from a dream. With sleepy eyed wonder John watched it hover in front of him, mesmerized by the crystal embedded in its chest. This thing was suspended in mid air, floating like an apparition; yet it bore an exact likeness to the brass pin that his mother had worn so faithfully.
John was just lucid enough to realize how surreal this looked. Though, figuring that it was part of a dream, he closed his eyes again and drifted back to sleep.
Sleep? How did that happen?
At once, John’s eyes flashed open and he lifted his head only to find that he was lying on the floor of the cargo hold. Beside him was the mahogany chest that the pilot picked up at the Miami International Airport.
This item had puzzled the boy ever since they brought it on to the plane. No company name, address, or “property of” could be found anywhere on its surface. And the more John looked at the chest, the more it resembled a small coffin. Strangest of all was the lid; for it was kept shut (not by a lock and key) but by a black ceramic seal, with an inscription of strange lettering.
“So what’s up with the writing?” John asked, hours ago, when he was still helping the pilot and co-pilot strap it down to the floor before takeoff.
“Listen, Kid,” the pilot said with a look that was almost regretful, “I’m not even supposed to know. I just know that it goes to Nassau.”
Balding on top and a bit round in the middle, the pilot was a man too old to be preoccupied with other people’s secrets… especially after they sent him a huge down payment.
“All I can tell you is that it belongs to a friend of a friend. Don’t know much more than that. A buddy of mine called me up and said that he knew of someone who wanted this thing shipped to the Bahamas on a non-commercial flight. They wanted to keep a low profile, cause I guess it’s extremely rare and valuable. All I knew is that I’d find it waiting for me in Miami. And here it is.”
Then, the pilot stepped a bit closer to John, lowering his voice.
“But keep an eye on our co-pilot,” he whispered, “I think he knows more about it than he lets on. Let me know if he does anything out of the ordinary.”
John of course had no idea what to watch out for. But as far as he could tell nothing was out of the ordinary… until now… until waking from this deep sleep, which was beginning to seem more suspicious as each second passed.
The plane had long since taken flight. It was just the four of them now, alone in the sky: John, the two pilots… and the chest. Everything else had been unloaded in Miami.
John’s thoughts were brought back to the strange dream he had had just a few moments ago. The boy could have sworn that he actually saw his mother’s brass pin of the nameless saint floating in the air. In fact, she had given it to him when he first boarded the plane back in Pennsylvania. But why was he dreaming about it now? Had there been a momentary loss of cabin pressure that caused him to hallucinate and then pass out?
For some unexplainable reason, his attention was drawn to the chest. Then, an eerie feeling crept over him as if he was alone at night and someone unseen was watching.
But he shook it off as quickly as he could. There was no reason to feel this way. None! …Or so he hoped.
John cursed his father under his breath for sending him to the Bahamas this way. A penny saved was dearer to the man than his own son. And since the pilot owed Mr. Robinson a favor, John’s airfare was free.
Thanks, Dad!
John found himself reaching into his jacket for the nameless saint pin just to make sure that it was still there.
But it wasn’t.
The pin was no where to be found.
He searched his pants pockets and then the floor… and then his pockets once again. That was when a glint of light sparkled off something that caught his eye… something that was attached to the side of the chest, right below the seal of I .
He took a closer look.
John got an instant chill; for it was the nameless saint… and it was magnetized to the chest, as if something inside had done it deliberately.
He dared himself to wonder if he had in fact seen the pin literally float through the air before it was drawn to this thing beside him. Perhaps it had not been a dream, after all. Perhaps it was caused by something a bit more unnatural… something that only the contents of the chest would reveal.
John was surprised by the strength of its magnetic force as he pulled the brass pin away. It seemed that the thing inside did not want him to have it back.
All at once, the chest jerked as if something in it was alive.
John fell backward. He sat there and stared for only a second, before scrambling to his feet and shoving the pin into his pocket.
“Okay! What’s in that chest!” he said, rushing to the cockpit, “Cause it just moved!”
The pilot himself seemed to be just waking up from an unwanted nap, as well.
“You were sleeping?” John shouted.
“Look, Bud! So were you! I don’t know what’s going on. But weird stuff’s been happening ever since we flew over Bimini! That chest’s been carrying-on and acting up like some kind of giant jumping bean… while you just slept right next to it the whole time!”
“What?! Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I tried but you wouldn’t budge! Plus I kept blacking out, too! But Ace next to me… he didn’t seem to care. I don’t think he blacked out at all. Isn’t that right-”
The pilot stopped mid sentence as he looked at the empty chair beside him.
“Where’s my co-pilot?”
“I-I-I don’t know.”
“Did he bail out?”
“I don’t think so. The door’s still locked.”
Then, the pilot took a closer look at his co-pilot’s empty chair.
“And his seatbelt’s still latched!”
“Huh? You mean he just disappeared?” cried John.
“I don’t know. Is he in the cargo hold?”
“No.”
“Is the seal on the chest broken?”
“The seal? You mean the one with the weird writing?”
“Yeah! Is it broken?”
“No.”
“Okay good. Then, he wasn’t messing around with it. Cause when we land, if there’s any sign that the chest was opened, the deal’s off. I get nothing.”
The pilot craned his neck around and gave a good stare into the cargo hold.
“I told you he’s not back there,” John insisted.
“Then, where is he? Go check the parachutes. Tell me how many there are.”
John did so immediately, and they were all accounted for.
“I refuse to believe he just vanished,” the pilot said when John returned, “But then again… I don’t know. There’s been some really creepy stuff happening.”
“Wh-What d’you mean?”
“Like I said, when we passed over Bimini that chest came to life… I blacked out and so did you. The next thing I know, we’re flying over Andros, and that thing next to you starts going crazy again like it wants to jump right out of the plane. I black out again. Then, I wake up to find us over the Tropic of Cancer, just east of the Sargasso Sea… way, way off course, and my co-pilot didn’t even seem to care! And now I wake up to find him gone.”
“So we’re in the middle of no where?”
“We were in the middle of nowhere. Now I have no idea where we are. I’m gettin’ nothing from ground control. The navigation’s gone. And the GPS is dead. Heck, my watch even stopped working!”
“We’re not going to run out of fuel are we?”
“That’s just it, Kid! We hardly used any! It’s like we’re skipping through time or something… thanks to that goofy thing in the back.”
“Let’s just throw it off the plane, then!”
“What? Are you nuts? I’ll be able to retire with what they’re paying me to land that thing… in Nassau… safe and sound! And I’ll even give you a cut of it if you just let me think for a second.”
“Think about what? We need to find a way to shut off whatever’s inside the chest… otherwise we’ll never land!”
“It’s not like that! It’s not a machine. There’s no on or off.”
“Okay so then you do know what it is!”
“Sort of.”
“Well, then tell me!”
“If I do, then you need to promise not to freak out!”
“Yeah, yeah. Yes. Alright. Whatever. Just tell me!”
But the pilot never replied.
He just stared with his jaw opened… looking now at something outside of the co-pilot’s window.
John turned his head to see what the man was gawking at. And at once, he was seized with astonishment.
Emerging from the darkest cloud was an airship of demonic proportion. Its massive hull was adorned with the forms of venomous serpents, jeering devils, and other creatures of hellish origin.
From the airship's bow, a giant cherub, made of an iridescent metal, stretched out over the misty space. And attached to the front of the black, armor-plated balloon was the image of a fiend. It loomed above the angel and reached down, squeezing her neck with gnarled fingers. Its massive bat-like wings stretched upward, embracing either side of the great balloon. The creature appeared to bear down on the winged woman from the back, forcing itself upon her in a savage act of lust. Out of its skull, a single, narrow horn jutted forth to stand against the sunlight, just beyond the edge of the heavy cloud. A shadow of this horn caressed the fiend’s jeering face as, with sheer delight, it seemed to watch the desperate angel struggle for breath.
This chariot was worthy of Lucifer, himself.
Then, John saw a flash of light emerge from the vessel. And a silent streak of smoke and flame raced forth.
“A missile! My god!” screamed the pilot, “Get in the seat! Get in and buckle up!”
John was already in the co-pilot’s chair. He could only watch as the missile sailed toward him. But none of this seemed to be happening. It was just too silent and far too surreal.
The pilot cursed as he tried to dodge the maelstrom that was about to come. And the boy was nearly thrown from his seat. The missile soared overhead at a speed faster than sound. A moment later, there was a roar like thunder that rattled the cabin.
John wasted no time; he clutched his seatbelt and buckled it around his gasping, sweating body.
A second missile was launched long before they had a chance to recover from the first. This time the pilot veered the plane straight up.
The missile passed beneath them with another trailing roar.
An array of curses left the pilot's lips, for in his panic he had stalled the plane.
A third missile was already on its way! The pilot's raging words were quickly subdued by this new revelation, as their craft began to free-fall through the heavens.
John simply waited... he waited like a corpse in a coffin.
A thunder of fire and twisting metal surged through the plane. John's arms and legs were wrenched sideways and nearly torn from his body. Terror turned to agony, and agony turned to nausea as the air-pressure changed with a fury. An earsplitting hum throbbed within the cockpit. Only the sound of human screaming emerged beyond the din. And John quickly realized that these screams were his own. His agony soon gave way to a numbing nausea. And the seconds became indistinct with eternity.
All at once, the searing delirium was swept away by the likes of an earthquake. Everything thundered with the sounds of screeching metal and smashing waves.
And then, there was stillness. The plane had met the sea.
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I gave you a 9 here, I really liked the content of this piece. The detail you used here is really good and helps to get the reader set in place of the scene where it’s all taking place. The characters could be developed a little but that’s just personal preference and it’s understandable why they can’t be within the scope of this piece. The dialogue is well constructed and executed, you did a very adaquate job there. It’s all very believable and the characters can be “seen” saying the things, ie. it doesn’t seem too out of place for them. I am going to have to check out more of your writing because this piece is very entrapping, and I’d be willing to pay for more.
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First of all congratulations on being published. Second, you must be a perfectionist like me, always wanting to improve stuff and add things. I’ve just read this piece of work and really there is nothing more to change or add. It read well and I could see your characters clearly.
Really good piece.
Description is brilliant (although a little overwhelming at the start, characters are interesting and believable, and the storyline holds all sorts of gems of knowledge and human truths which I’m sure will only become more apparent as you continue.
I’ll be sure to come along for the ride.
sounds like the ultimate battle of beliefs story has a great premise great character relations u can feel the tension in the air. congrats on getting it published
this is insane stuff. i like it a lot. i love this line towards the end:
” “Oh, shut up, Kid! That tongue of yours is just digging your grave deeper!” his father shouted”
keep it up.
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